


In The Quiet Of The Morning

by ShineBrightStarLight



Series: August Writer's Month 2019 [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), I have no idea how to tag this., Kosmo's there for a split second, M/M, POV Lance (Voltron), The epilogue didn't happen, it's just soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 20:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShineBrightStarLight/pseuds/ShineBrightStarLight
Summary: Lance is pulled awake by a sound. He knows immediately that it is too early to be awake. Keith is still pressed to his front, warm and soft in sleep. A seagull screeches outside, a common sound this close to the sea.For Day 5 of Writer's Month; word prompt; sound.





	In The Quiet Of The Morning

Lance is pulled from sleep by a sound. He blinks awake, quicker than he would have liked. It has been years since the war, but his old mindset is still prevalent. He knows there is no threat, and he is working through it, but it’s slow going. 

He doesn’t open his eyes – not yet. He doesn’t want to see if it is dark. He doesn’t want to know the time. The warmth pressed to his front is enough to tell him that it’s too early to be awake.

Despite the time that has passed, Lance’s lover has never been able to fully shake the wartime routine. He wakes at the crack of dawn, and sleeps when he’s able. He has frequent bouts of insomnia that plague him, and he is used to sleeping in short bursts. 

His gentle breathing is enough to tell Lance that he is still asleep, dreaming softly. Air brushes Lance’s neck where Keith’s lips rest, in, pause, out, pause, in, pause, out, pause. He smiles at the ticklish feeling. On his worst nights, when Lance is too afraid to wake Keith up, he rests his head over his heart and listens. Keith’s breathing is grounding, proof that he is alive and healthy and happy. Enough proof to combat the nightmares. 

Keith shifts in his arms, legs kicking as though he is moving in his dreams. Lance blearily opens his eyes to make sure he’s still asleep. He is, thankfully, but Lance is not. His mind is too active now. He glances at their old alarm clock, a relic from before World War Three that Lance had inherited from his Grandfather when he was a kid. It’s four thirty. Too early for anyone to be awake. He closes his eyes again.

Lance groans, quietly, but makes no move to get up. He’s warm here, underneath the sheets with his legs tangled with Keith’s. Keith usually only wears a t-shirt to bed, while Lance prefers pants. Keith’s feet are always freezing where they brush against his own. 

Outside, a seagull screeches. It’s a common sound, this close to the sea. If he concentrates hard enough, he thinks he can hear the ocean waves lap against the shore. They live right on the beach, in among the dunes. 

Surprisingly, it was Keith who suggested the move. Lance had been content to live close to the Garrison, even if he did miss the ocean fearsomely, but Keith had gotten antsy. With how far technology had advanced on Earth, they could live what would have been six hours away by car now, and only have to make a thirty-minute commute.

Keith had bounded into Lance’s office one day, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed with excitement. “I found it!” he exclaimed. They came to view the house later that afternoon and both of them fell in love. 

They were on a small, not well-known beach. The house was a bit big for the two of them, but they both dreamed of filling it with little ones. Kosmo already took up a huge portion of it, so it wasn’t like the space was going to waste. 

The house was a bit run down, but they had turned it into a project. They spent longer than they would like to admit arguing over decorations and paints and furniture, trying to find the perfect blend of them both, but Lance was proud to say that they had done it. 

It felt nice to use his hands for creating rather than destroying. 

Their house would never be show room worthy; there was sand everywhere, and dog hair. Keith had a bad habit of bringing home strays, most of which had no basic household manners. Lance’s many niblings had scribbled on more than their fair share of furniture and walls, but it was home. It was Keith and Lance, it was McClain-Kogane. It was safety and love. It was messy and lived in, it was too loud sometimes, and too quiet others. Lance didn’t think there was a place in the universe he could be happier. 

Keith mumbles in his sleep, and twists in Lance’s arms. He’s facing away from him now, facing their sliding glass doors. Lance opens his eyes again, to see that it is starting to get brighter. Keith has pulled most of their blankets over with him, but Lance doesn’t mind. He wants to get up anyway. He presses a kiss to Keith’s messy hair, pulls on a warm jumper, and slips into the kitchen. He leaves the door ajar behind him, so he can hear if Keith needs him. Even if they are only separated by one room, a part of Lance will always worry for his safety. 

Lazuli greets him at the door, already meowing loudly for her breakfast. Kosmo teleports in, and makes a start for their bedroom, but Lance catches him. Keith needs all the rest he can get, and Lance isn’t going to let Kosmo ruin that. He scoops Laz up in one arm and holds onto Kosmo’s mane with the other. 

Laz is always ridiculously excitable in the morning, and even if it is too early, he feeds her just so she will quieten down. Kosmo teleports away, but Lance doesn’t hear any movement from the bedroom, so he presumes he’s gone outside. 

He turns the coffee pot on, and searches for his favourite mug. It’s a blue ceramic one that Keith made him for his birthday last year. He had been going to some pottery classes, and was actually very good, but this mug would always be his favourite. Their cups clink against each other, and the coffee machine whirrs in the background. Lance heads around their sitting, kitchen and dining open plan space and pulls open the curtains and blinds. He opens a few windows to let the brisk morning air in. 

Lazuli crunches down on her food as Lance fills his mug. He sets Keith’s matching red mug on the counter for him, since he knows that Keith will go straight for the coffee first thing. He walks out to their patio, leaving the door open behind him.

This is where they have the best view of the sea. Today, it is rough. A storm must be coming in. The sea is grey and angry. It amazes Lance with its beauty. The ocean is so diverse, so active and calm. It is a contradiction, completely opposite of itself. It is elusive. Lance feels like he can spend the rest of his life studying the ocean, but it will always be just out of his grasp. 

He sees Kosmo, way down the beach. He is digging something up, and Lance knows he will teleport into the house with his findings. Keith will yell and complain, but his eyes will crinkle with his laughter. 

Out here, the wind is stronger. Lance can see the dark storm clouds on the horizon. Neither of them have work today, so maybe they can stay in bed and listen to the rain patter against the roof and windows. Keith loves the rain just as much as Lance does. He loves how cosy it makes him feel, loves the smell and the atmosphere that surrounds it. 

A pair of arms wrapping around his waist startle Lance out of his thoughts. It’s Keith, still soft and warm from sleep and wearing one of Lance’s jumpers. He is drowning in it. Although Keith had grown taller after his two years on the space whale, Lance had had a growth spurt in his early twenties, and he is now several inches taller than Keith. Keith likes to complain, but he wears Lances clothes too much to really be annoyed by it. His mamá says that it is the result of him eating real food again, “instead of whatever crap you were fed in space.”. Lance has to agree. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, and he squeezes one of Keith’s hands with his own. Keith grunts into his shoulders and presses into him. Lance laughs, loud and clear. 

“I left some coffee out for you,” he says when it becomes clear that Keith isn’t going to speak. 

Another grunt, another squeeze. 

Lance turns to face his love properly. Keith doesn’t lift his head, only buries his face in Lance’s chest. His red mug is on the table next to Lance’s, already half empty. Steam rises from them both, carrying the fragrance of fresh coffee with them. Lance lets his hands wander, from Keith’s shoulders, down to his lower back and up again, then down to his hips and ass.

Keith whines when his cold fingers brush his legs. He huddles closer and turns his face to peer up at him. His big blue eyes have always been a weakness for Lance, one he knows and exploits often. 

“Come back to bed?” he asks, voice raspy from misuse. It sends shivers down Lance’s spine. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

The door slams shut behind them; their coffee left forgotten. Not a moment too soon, as rain comes pouring down. Inside, there is a shriek and a crash, a yell of “Kosmo!”. The rain continues to fall steadily, drumming a gentle beat onto the patio and sand. 

It’s not the kind of life Lance ever thought he was going to get, it’s the kind of life he had barely let himself even dream of. He thanks whatever deities are watching over him for making it happen.


End file.
